


Past the edge of the wound

by beeawolf



Series: Time of the underdog [7]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dog BB-8, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 17:43:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16372172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeawolf/pseuds/beeawolf
Summary: Everything aches, old wounds waking again, and so he takes Finn’s hand and he breathes.





	Past the edge of the wound

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a poem by Joy Harjo called "Returning from the Enemy." This is just a small & quiet scene that doesn't really fit anywhere else.

“Poe?”

            A whisper in the dark. And then a hand gripping his wrist, and Poe fights hard not to jerk away.

            “Poe, hey.”

            He can’t speak, right now, in this frozen-solid second that keeps stretching on and on and on, can’t think past the terror winding tight around his ribcage. Everything aches, old wounds waking again, and so he takes Finn’s hand and he breathes.

            He’s had a lot of practice at that. The breathing part. The holding Finn’s hand part, too, but – breathing. You’d think your body would just _take care of that_ , right, only it doesn’t, you can’t really trust it, you have to work at it.

            But that’s okay. Because he’s had practice.

            Finn’s talking. It takes Poe a few long, slow breaths to realize. He’s talking quiet and steady, and he’s holding Poe’s hand just tight enough to ground him. Because Finn’s had practice too.

            “It’s supposed to rain later,” Finn’s saying. “So you’ll get to try BeeBee’s new coat. Rey’s gonna want pictures, she was so psyched about that thing.”

            “It’s a good coat,” Poe says. His own voice is a surprise. It comes out scratchy. He coughs a little to clear his throat. “She’s the best fashion consultant BeeBee’s ever had.”

            Finn squeezes his hand. “She’s like obsessed with him now.”

            Poe shrugs. “Everybody should be.”

            “Yeah, but one weekend dogsitting and she’s like his godmother or something.”

            “Jess,” Poe says.

            “What?”

            “She’s his godmother. Jess is.” They’d talked about it, way back when. He’d gotten her one of those mugs to make it official. _Best Godmother Ever_ , in this hideous curly pink font.

            Finn laughs. “Okay. His aunt. Aunt Rey.”

            “Sounds right.” Poe doesn’t smile exactly, because of how he can’t yet. But he tries, and that counts for something.

            The pressure in his chest is easing, the dream’s sharp details fading slowly. His nerves are downgrading the Extra High Danger Alert to a low-level warning, and he’s aware now of BB snoring at the end of the bed. Of the wetness on his own face. He reaches up to wipe at his eyes.

            “You want water?” Finn asks.

            Poe shakes his head. He doesn’t want anything. He wants to stop reliving the worst days of his life. He wants Finn – beautiful, kind, patient Finn – not to have to sit up with him in the dark.

            “It was the crash,” he says, although he knows Finn won’t pressure him, won’t ask at all. He wants to tell him anyway. He always wants to tell Finn everything. It’s maybe kind of weird. It’s like a compulsion. It’s like a – it’s not a _problem_ , but it’s a Thing.  “It was the crash, and...all that stuff.”

            Finn listens, because he’s good at that, because he’s good at everything probably.

            “But you’re here now,” he says. Quiet. Still holding firm to Poe’s hand.

            Poe lets out a breath. “I know that.”

            _Muran’s not,_ his mind murmurs. _Muran’s not here._

            But he ignores that. He knows how to ignore that. His mind’s gonna have to try harder than that if it wants to trip him up these days, what with the years of therapy and the Doctor-Approved Coping Mechanisms and the impossibly understanding boyfriend and the dog who’s staggering up on sleepy legs to wag his tail at Poe.

            “Hey,” Poe tells BB, and the tail wags faster. His perfect, weird, scruffy dog ambles on over to collapse across Poe’s stomach, half-asleep but determined as ever not to miss out on any possible scrap of attention. Somehow the weight of him is calming, and Finn kissing Poe’s neck is – distracting, and he’s doing his breathing and he’s okay. He’s okay. He’s going to be. He is.

            “I love you,” Poe says, after a while. After he’s settled back down onto his side, Finn at his back, BB curled up against his belly, surrounded on all sides in the best possible way. He half-mumbles it into the pillow, really, so he lifts his head to say it again. Because it feels nice to say. Because it’s true, and Finn should get to hear it a lot.

            “Love you,” he announces. “Love the hell outta you. So much.”

            He feels Finn’s soft laugh against his shoulder, then another light kiss planted on the curve of his neck. “You talking to me or your dog?”

            Poe manages to smile this time. He lets his head fall back to the pillow. “Both,” he says. “Both of you. Obviously.”

            “Uh-huh.” Finn sounds all warm and content and sleepy now, and that’s good, that’s perfect. “Well. We love you too. Obviously.”

            “Cool,” Poe says, trying to sound casual. Like it isn’t the biggest miracle of his life, every time Finn says this to him. “Good. That’s good.”

            And he closes his eyes.

            And breathes, and breathes.


End file.
